


Take Me Down Into Your Paradise

by sweeterthankarma



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020), DC Extended Universe
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/F, Friendship/Love, Implied Sexual Content, Multi, Polyamory, Threesome - F/F/F, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:14:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27787333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthankarma/pseuds/sweeterthankarma
Summary: Anonymous requested, “ot3 vacation funded by Helena’s blood money with lots of booze and lots of fun.”
Relationships: Dinah Lance/Harleen Quinzel, Helena Bertinelli/Dinah Lance, Helena Bertinelli/Dinah Lance/Harleen Quinzel, Helena Bertinelli/Harleen Quinzel
Kudos: 50





	Take Me Down Into Your Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song "Cool for the Summer" by Demi Lovato, because of course.

“I needed this,” Harley announces, almost scream-sighs as she lurches out of the taxi, shoving a wad of booze-sticky bills into the driver’s extended hand. “Thank you— now it’s champagne time, ladies!”

“You just took two shots of whiskey in a five minute drive,” Helena reminds her, fighting an urge to roll her eyes and only deciding to be good when Dinah gives her a leveling smile. Harley had kept mini bottles in her purse, pre-packed and snuck through TSA, yet she still somehow convinced the airline stewardess to give her not two, not three, but  _ four  _ extra ones before they landed. Something about her scandalizing charm made it work, or at least that’s what she said after she tucked them away into her handbag with a vicious, glinting smile. Honestly, Helena figures that claim isn't too far off.

Her expression is dumbstruck as she watches the human sized disco ball that is Harleen Quinzel hurtle down the cobblestone towards the hotel entrance. A swift move of her arm, and Helena’s pretty sure she’s opening the cap of the third bottle. This time, she does roll her eyes, an innate movement that happens before she can even counter it. 

Harley’s fit in a sparkly bikini top and ripped, silver shorts that expose the curve of her ass and more skin than Helena thinks she’d ever be comfortable showing herself. She looks good, though. Damn good. She’s been staring a little, actually.

Helena’s irritation returns seconds later when she joins Dinah at the back of the car to tug Harley’s multiple overstuffed suitcases out of the trunk. They’re heavy and hot pink, and Helena’s about to grumble something snarky about it when Dinah seems to read her mind. She bumps her with her hip as she reaches over, wrapping her fingers around the handle, and her touch lingers atop Helena’s hand before she gets the hint to pull away and let her take this one. 

“Relax, babe,” Dinah tells her, her breath suddenly close and hot near Helena’s ear. “We’re here to have fun.”

Helena can’t help the shiver that runs down her spine at Dinah’s words, but at least she doesn’t pick up on it. Or, at least she hopes not. She’s running off to catch up to Harley, her own backpack strapped over her shoulder and Dinah’s suitcase under her palm, before she can see her reaction and find out.

They haven’t quite defined this thing between them— all three of them, but especially Dinah and Helena. If Helena is honest, she doesn’t think they will anytime soon, either. Certainly not in a way with words or labels or anniversaries, any of that cheesy, unnecessary shit. All three of them have never been the kind of people to follow traditional timelines in any sense of the word, and neither of them seem pressed to change that. Helena knows that it’s been about six months since they defeated Sionis and moved in together, more or less, but everything else sort of blends together into a messy, chaotic kind of timeline. Has it been two weeks or two months since she and Dinah started sleeping together— platonically only, of course? Helena doesn’t know, but Dinah has been calling her _babe_ and _love_ and even sometimes _babygirl,_ and that word choice alone makes Helena forget nearly everything about reality. Time and space and location and the basic laws of physics be damned, she thinks she could lift up and float every time Dinah says as much as that simple nickname.

Dinah kisses her, too, and that’s nice. More than nice. 

Harley calls her other things— still the Crossbow Killer, because old habits die hard— but it’s more about what she does than what she says. Like buying Helena snacks and workout gear and a brand new arrow when her favorite one snapped in half and Helena broke out into a string of swears and tears and other embarrassing reactions right after it happened. Harley’s comforting arms around hers, her warm body on the couch the whole night she pouted and felt sorry for herself was the best consolation prize of all. 

Harley kisses her as well. That’s also nice. Watching Harley kiss Dinah is, too, but she isn’t sure she’s supposed to know about it. Or feel a certain way about it. 

It’s nice, easy, remarkable, the way that they all flop onto the king sized bed and make themselves comfortable, cool air conditioning wafting from the wall and across the room, onto their bodies. Helena’s trying to think less, stop overanalyzing whatever this is between them because she’s so afraid she’ll ruin it and maybe if she just does what she feels is right, it will be. 

So Helena dares to rest her head on Harley’s thigh, right above her knee, and when Dinah says something, she turns her cheek to look at her. It’d be so easy to kiss Harley’s skin. Maybe even keep her eyes on Dinah’s while she does it. Helena thinks about it. 

Dinah’s stare lingers, making her wonder if she might be onto her, and the only reason Helena doesn’t do it, doesn’t brush her mouth against Harley’s ivory-pale skin while giving her those eyes that she knows Dinah gets off on a little, is Harley. She’s got a plan of her own, already up and moving as soon as they’ve gotten cozy, and she heads out the door without saying anything besides “come on!” 

The sand on the beach is hot, almost burning, and Helena almost trips four times on the walk there. She’s not used to sandals or the feeling of Harley’s fingers messily intertwined with hers, but one is clearly better than the other. It’s sweaty but nice, tight even when their grasp grows distant and only their pinkies are touching. Harley only lets go when they get to the shoreline. Helena watches the salt water foaming over their recently painted toes sinking into the dirt — she’s not quite used to nail polish on herself but she can’t say that she hates it, even if it’s just a plain, inoffensive blue—  and when Helena looks up she sees Harley dangle an arm around Dinah, pulling her in for a kiss on her temple.

It’s casual. Dinah’s face blushes with affection, not surprise, and Helena masks her own reaction of admittedly sharp lust by lunging forward and reaching for a piece of green-brown, twisted seaweed. 

“Dinah, what if you put this in your hair?” she asks, and Dinah’s mouth opens into a wide, chapstick and lip gloss covered  _ o  _ shape. For a moment, embarrassment rushes through Helena; she’s sure she’s gone too far and this is it, she’s never going to try to make another joke ever again. She’s never been the funny type, after all. 

She takes back that thought seconds later, when Dinah grabs it from her, skin brushing against skin once again, and she lets out a pretty burst of laughter in return. It’s light and sweet, pure, and Helena thinks that it may be a better sound, a more natural one, than the waves crashing around her.

Dinah offers a toothy smile as she holds the green up to one of her braids and turns to Harley, giving her an expectant look.

“What do you think, Quinn?”

Harley puts her matching manicured hands on her hips, hot pink against an even hotter shade of pink, and she pretends to judge her. “I think,” she says, holding a hand up to her chin, “that I want one too!”

She lunges into the water, splashing and spooking a couple nearly that weren’t expecting such a frantic movement from anyone near them, and Dinah laughs as she watches Harley invade their space, searching for seaweed. Helena leans into Helena’s side, does it without thinking, and she only pulls away when Harley resurfaces with two more strands of seaweed, offering one to Helena.

“We’re matching,” Harley says. “Who needs tattoos? Though I was thinking that maybe we could get some later…”

Dinah whacks her with a gentle hand before she can fantasize about that concept any longer. Dinah has a lot of piercings, but no tattoos— at least not as far as Helena knows.

“Maybe once we get to know each other better,” Dinah teases, then steps forward until the next wave crashes directly into her torso. “Let’s go in!”

Approximately six and a half hours later, Helena learns that Dinah  _ does  _ have a tattoo. Right on her hip bone, so close to her pubic area that Helena feels like she should look away, sits a faded outline of the word  _ fortuna,  _ “luck” in Latin. When Dinah pulls the hem of her bikini bottoms up to show it off more, she reveals more skin than Helena expected to see, along with the faintest of hair, sort of like stubble, lined up neatly against her otherwise bare thigh. 

She must have gotten a bikini wax, Helena thinks, and she chases the thought, already tainted with desire, out of her mind by reminding herself that she probably should have gotten one herself.

She’s curly, a little overgrown beneath her own black, one-piece suit, but she finds that she isn’t too insecure about that when she finds that Harley is too. She lets her strip the garment from her, murmuring praises about how strong and sexy Helena is while her lipstick stained, champagne wet mouth kisses against her shoulder. The feeling of it takes over Helena’s mind, especially when Dinah does the same on the other side of her body, lips already down to her ribcage. No one’s ever called her sexy before. 

Harley pulls a crimson colored, medium sized dildo from her bag, showcasing it in her palms with more patience than Helena expected from her. When she looks up to peer at Helena with curious, optimistic eyes, that’s a surprise too. She answers her with a kiss and Dinah takes the glass blown shape into her own hands, pulling lube and a condom from her own bag all the while never taking her eyes off Helena. Helena gasps out, a choked sound that makes Harley nearly purr, even though it indicates how Helena feels: off-kilter, equal parts thrilled and terrified. 

Still, this is what she wants. How both Harley  _ and _ Dinah know that is beyond her. Has she really been so obvious?

Maybe they all have, Helena thinks, because her own fingers glide across Dinah’s chest easily, like she’s done it before— though the shaking of her entire body proves otherwise. It slows a bit when her own palm rests on Dinah’s throat and she nods at her, encouraging through thick lashes and dark eyes, breathless. 

_ Oh.  _ Maybe they know each other better than they thought. 

The bottle of champagne sits, its contents gone stale, stale, poured into Red Solo cups and leaving rings on the wooden bedside table. It stays there all night. Harley had chanted, nearly hollered so loud that Helena was sure the neighbors would complain, about buying a bottle of champagne and cracking it open as soon as they stepped out into the summer heat, but now that it’s here— well, it’s been mostly drunk, but long forgotten now. 

Harley smears kisses down Helena’s stomach even when they’ve all come, sated and sleepy. Harley never seems to quit. Only when the rush of traffic fades out to an infrequent lull, barely audible, does Harley decide to speak, breaking the reverie and perhaps inciting another one to begin.

“So that was fun.”

_ “Mhmm,” _ is all Dinah serves up as a response. Helena’s head rests on the bicep of her left arm, strewn out across the pillows. 

“Didn’t know you two had fucked before.”

Helena lifts her head up. “We haven’t.”

Harley’s expression glazes over with intrigue. “No way?”

Dinah hums out another affirmative. “Wanted to,” she says, and Helena’s brain has officially stopped forming coherent thoughts at this point. “Didn’t know about this one, though.” 

She nudges Helena and all that she can get out in response is a stammering mess of jumbled phrases.

“No, I-I, you know I- well, you didn’t know, but I- we...you never-”

Dinah shuts her up with a kiss, feverish and open mouthed. “I knew about you, babygirl. I’m only kidding.”

Helena heaves a loud breath when Dinah pulls away. “Okay, good.”

“What about me?” Harley asks, bouncing on her knees on the opposite side of the bed. “Did you want me?”

Helena doesn’t know where her bravery comes from. Maybe she doesn’t need to know. Maybe all that matters is that she has it now. 

“You know I did,” she replies, and before she can even bask in it, Harley’s moving on, chattering off again about some topic of discussion lightyears ahead of where they just were. 

“So,” Harley says once Helena and Dinah bring her back around, “tattoos tomorrow?”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, please let me know! Comments and kudos make my day. 
> 
> Come say hi at my Tumblr blog [here](https://sweeterthankarma.tumblr.com/) or at my new Twitter account [here!](https://twitter.com/sweeterthnkarma)


End file.
